


Inexorable

by kalx58



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Casual Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Dominant Ben Solo, F/M, Name-Calling, Neighbors, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Soft Ending, Verbal Humiliation, awkward dummies when not banging, degradation kink, minor ass play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25777324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalx58/pseuds/kalx58
Summary: He jerks his head. “Here, come in while I grab it.”There’s a pause, and then Rey nods again, slower, stepping out of the sunlight and into his apartment.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 53
Kudos: 491





	Inexorable

**Author's Note:**

> 🚨 Please mind the tags! I think I've tagged everything, but please let me know if there's anything I've missed! 🚨

It’s a bright, sunny day, but that’s a lie, Rey thinks, walking up the steps. Like too many Bay Area summer days, there’s still a bite of coldness from the ocean in the air, a nip she’s very aware of as she knocks on her neighbor’s door. 

She hears footsteps, looking around the parking lot as she waits. When he answers the door, she’s shivering a little.

“Hi,” Rey says, voice high. “I’m Rey. I’m your neighbor. I live in 136A?” She wonders why she says it like it’s a question. But her neighbor—tall, pale, dark hair—doesn’t say anything. He just looks down at her, face impassive. “Um. I was wondering. Could I possibly borrow some flour? I’m making lemon bars and I realized I’m a little—well, a half cup—short.”

A beat passes where he just looks at her. But then he nods slowly. “Sure. A half cup, you said?” 

“Yeah,” she says, a big smile on her face. "Thank you so much—ah?”

“Ben,” he says in his deep voice. He turns, leaving her alone at the doorway. “One second.” 

A breeze moves through the air, tugging at the hem of her sundress. She shivers again. 

He returns, holding a plastic bag filled with flour.

“I gave you some extra.”

“Oh, thank you so much Ben. You’re a lifesaver.” She beams at him. He doesn’t smile. As he hands over the bag, his eyes slide slowly down her body, too openly to be polite. Rey likes her dress, with its fitted bodice and pattern of tiny flowers, but it is a little short. She feels an itch to pull it down. 

“Well, um. Have a good day,” she says after a pause, turning away. When she’s halfway down the stairs, he speaks. 

“Wait. Rey, you said?”

She nods. 

“I think I may have gotten some of your mail.” Another long gaze over her body, seeming to focus on where her dress ends. He jerks his head. “Here, come in while I grab it.” 

There’s a pause, and then Rey nods again, slower, stepping out of the sunlight and into his apartment. He holds the door open for her, shutting it behind her. 

“I put it in my room. You can take a seat.” 

Rey does what he says, sinking down into the couch, carefully spreading her dress over her thighs so it doesn’t ride up. He’s gone long enough to make her feel a whisper of confusion, sitting on the couch in a neater, one bedroom, more adult-seeming version of the untidy apartment she shares with Finn. She looks out his window to the parking lot. Their place isn’t visible from here, hidden by the trees. 

Ben returns with a stack of envelopes. She moves to rise, but he sits next to her on the couch. He’s close, on the same cushion as her, and their sleeves brush. Rey shaved earlier, and she wonders if he can smell the coconut scent of her lotion, sitting this close. He flips through the stack. His hands are very large. Like, absurdly large, she thinks, staring at the thickness of his fingers. 

“Huh. Turns out it was I was wrong. This is for James.”

“Oh, in 140 B?” 

He nods, setting the envelopes on the table. She’s about to stand, a polite smile on her face, when one of his big hands comes down around her knee. 

Rey’s mouth drops open, and she’s paralyzed for a moment. Then she shifts, trying to edge away from the warm, heavy weight. But he doesn’t move, and his big fingers curl on her knee, anchoring them there. 

Right as she attempts words, a meek, uncertain “Uh—” his hand starts moving up her leg. Her heartbeat speeds up, and she reminds herself to breathe. His hand is so large that it curves over her leg, fingertips brushing her sensitive inner thigh as it trails upward. She twitches at the touch. 

He looks at her, dark eyes drinking in her discomfort. There’s an even, unbothered expression on his face. His hand meets the hem of her dress, and moving from her thigh to rub the fabric between his thumb and index finger. 

“This is a pretty dress, Rey,” he says, voice low. 

“Thank you?” God, why is she being polite? Her knees knock together in nervousness, her toes curling in her sandals. She tries once again to stand, but his hand wraps even more tightly around her knee. He gives it a friendly squeeze as she sinks back down. 

“Can you move your—”

“You wear a lot of dresses,” he says conversationally, talking over her. She sits very still, posture straight. “I’ve seen you around the complex.” His hand returns to her thigh and he begins to slowly push up her dress. He’s older than her, by about ten years, and his movements are confident as he slides the fabric higher and higher. 

He pauses, shifting his hand to idly stroke her inner thighs. The area is so sensitive that she twitches, making her wonder how far he’ll—

She finds out soon enough, when one finger traces the edge of her thong. 

“Please, stop—” she cries out, hyper aware of how her clit is throbbing from the nearness of his finger, still just skating along the edge of the lace, not moving any further. Rey remembers distantly that she felt cold just a few minutes ago. Now, all of her is warm.

She slams her thighs together, trying to force him away. But the motion shoves his finger from the edge of her underwear to the center, and she gasps as his finger brushes over her clit. He takes advantage of the new position, stroking his finger over her clothed cunt, not trying to do more in the awkward position.

His touch is so comfortable and confident, Rey thinks, sucking in breaths, tense with the effort of keeping her thighs squeezed shut. It’s a small movement—up and down, over and over—but the invasiveness of it makes her feel like he’s touching her everywhere.

He leans back on the couch, other arm slung on the cushion behind her, a slight smile on his face as he takes in her panicky expression. He’s so relaxed as she breathes hard, jerking at his the feel of his fingers, which keep rubbing and rubbing everywhere, but don't move—

She stares at his red mouth, watching his big lips as they form his next words. “I was wondering if you always wore underwear under these. Or if you’d be bare. Like a slut.” 

Rey goes still, glaring at him. “Fuck you. I’m not—” In her anger, she forgets to keep squeezing her thighs, and he moves his hand to roughly pull them apart. And then he yanks them a little more, so she’s spread obscenely wide on his couch, exposed to him.

“Good,” he says, patting her thigh. “Better angle.”

Ben’s hand moves back to her underwear, and then one large finger is dipping under the elastic, to discover what she's already very aware of. She’s wet. And he’s delighted, grunting as his finger makes a slow journey over her cunt, brushing over her folds, up to her clit and then back down. He presses his finger down lightly over her entrance. Not enough to breach her. But with enough pressure to remind her that at any point he could, just shove in one finger, two, as hard and fast as he wants. She swallows hard.

She tries to wiggle away, but he just follows, clamping his other hand over her hip to keep her still. She trembles. He jerks her underwear down to her knees. And then he finally pushes one finger into her, her wetness making it feel like nothing, even though she knows how wide they are. She squeezes her eyes shut as he begins to pump his finger.

“Please,” she says, plaintive. 

He doesn’t say anything, but she hears his breathing. It sounds harsher now. She blinks open her eyes when she feels him add another finger. This isn’t as easy. It feels bigger and she’s extremely aware of the size of them now. She has to twitch and shift, adjusting to him. She can feel his gaze on her, studying at her expression, which she’s currently struggling to keep neutral. She refuses to make eye contact, staring at the topo map of Yosemite framed on the wall across from them, gulping in shaky breaths.

Then there’s a new sensation, fingers brushing at her chest. Her eyes dart over to him. He’s staring at her tits as he draws a finger along the bodice of her dress, following where it dips from her shoulders to the top of her chest. One large finger tugs the fabric down, looking out of place next to the delicate floral pattern. His finger gets closer and closer to her nipple, but then he pulls his hand away. Her dress falls back into place. Rey’s nipples swell but remain untouched. 

Leaning back, he looks at her nervous, scared face as he thrusts his fingers harder. If anyone saw them through the window right now, they’d just look like neighbors having a friendly chat, maybe about rent increases or the noise of street sweeping. They wouldn’t be able to tell that he’s forcing his way into her cunt, or that she’s soft and wet from his invasive, creeping touch. 

He’s conscientious, Rey thinks dimly as he dips his fingers into her slit to gather the moisture there before rubbing at her clit. Making it wetter, easier for her. Her nervous gaze skates over to his lap, the visible erection there, and then to his face. 

He’s settled into a comfortable position, body open and facing her, head propped on the elbow leaning against the cushion. He says nothing, letting the humiliation wash over her, just silently fingering her, the wet noise of it and her increasingly loud breaths the only sound in his quiet apartment. There’s no hesitation. He touches her like it’s obvious, a forgone conclusion. Like he’s entitled to it. 

“You got wet so fast. Barely took anything,” he says eventually. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”

She growls. 

“Is this not enough? Do you need me to fuck you somewhere else?” He tilts his head toward her, so goddamn polite as he asks, fingers now curling in her cunt to brush over some spot that makes her whimper. 

“Fuck you. You’re forcing me to do this.” 

He tilts his head in the other direction. “Maybe you should be nicer. You know I can do whatever I want to you, right?”

“Stop—”

Her plea is muffled by two fingers, pushing into her mouth. They’re the fingers from her cunt, the taste of her arousal humiliating. It makes her clench. He pauses, looking into her eyes as if to measure something, and then pushes them deeper. When she gags, he pats her cheek with his other hand. “C’mon, suck. We need them wetter for this.” 

She sucks hard, once again doing what he wants, and then he pulls them out. 

“You’re so goddamn needy. I could also fuck you here,” he says, voice lower. Meaner. He reaches under the hem of her skirt. “Would that satisfy you?” 

His wet fingers trail past her cunt, moving higher, heading toward her ass. She lifts her hips to get away, but his fingers follow, getting closer. She thinks about how wide his fingers are, how big they’ll feel—there. Too big. She edges her body in the other direction. His other hand comes down to grip her thigh. But not hard. He looks amused at her attempts to get away.

She keeps squirming farther and farther away. But now she’s backed into a corner against the arm of the couch, her whimpers loud as he gets closer to her ass. Her head tilts back and she stares at the ceiling, panting, as he just rubs circles around her hole, pressing gently. 

Suddenly, she feels a wet warmth on her cunt. Startled, she looks down to see his dark head between her thighs, licking up a stripe up her folds, fingers still rubbing at her hole, the combination flooding her body with heat.

“No,” she says, trying ineffectively to scoot backwards, bumping against the corner of the couch. “Please.” 

Again, he ignores her. “And now you’re even more wet. You little whore. You like me playing with your ass.” He says it fondly, giving her another sloppy lick that makes her moan before he pulls his hand away from her ass. Oh. Is he not actually going to put his fingers—she drops her gaze to looks at him dazedly. He laughs at her confusion. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll fuck you there someday. I can tell how you much you like it.”

He suckles her clit for a second—she cries out, hips thrusting— before sitting up and reaching for his belt.

The motion sends Rey springing up, dashing to the door. But his legs are so long that, of course, he gets there first. He looks annoyed as he flips the lock, frowning down at her. Rey quakes in front of him. 

“Let me go,” she spits out. 

His tone is the opposite of hers, a gentle chide. Like they’re friends. “Rey. Come on. Don’t do that.” 

He continues. “You’re just drawing it out.” A shark-like grin. “Unless you want that? For me to take my time? Torture you a little?”

Her frown deepens, but he just looks at her, relaxed again. 

“Now. Take off your dress.” 

“No.” 

“Rey.” A heavy sigh, with a tone that implies she’s being unreasonable. “It’s a pretty dress. I don’t want to rip it.” 

Her hands fist at the hem, just holding it. But he’s leaning back against the door, blocking her, so she slowly starts raising it. With every inch of new skin revealed, his eyes darken. She folds it and puts it on his armchair.

“I didn’t ask you to do that, you know.” He nods at the underwear she’s bending to pull off her ankle. “You just took those off. Excited?”

“I’m just trying to get this over with,” she says, gritting her teeth. She’s full naked now, and her eyes slide over to the open window. 

“Come over here,” he says, jerking his head. “I don’t want anyone else to see you like this.”

She walks over on shaky legs to stand in front of him. He stares at her for a long minute, taking his time, gaze sweeping over her, letting her anxiety build. 

“Fuck, your body,” he says, tone reverent. He bends, hands in pockets, pausing before her breasts. “Such pretty nipples.” He sucks one into his mouth, tonguing and pulling it to the point of pain. When he releases it, it’s red and wet. 

“You sound so desperate,” he says, patting her cheek and ruffling her hair. “It’ll be okay. I know what you need.”

The soothing tone makes her want to cover herself, and her hands twitch at her sides.

“Now. Back on the couch.” 

“No, please,” she cries out, voice high. “I don’t want—”

A flash of annoyance passes over his face. He rolls his eyes. “Fucking—Rey. I thought we were over this?” 

He steps closer, looming over her. Sighing, he shoves two of his fingers into her cunt, and she lets out a surprised gasp at the intrusion. She stares at his chest in his blue button down, as he thrusts them in a bored, almost perfunctory way—getting her ready, her mind supplies. She squeals when he presses his thumb down hard on her clit. When she looks up at him, his eyes are mocking. 

“Right. You don’t want this.” He abruptly pulls out his fingers, holding them up and looking at how wet they are. He tweaks her nipple once, and she shudders at the slippery feeling, the jolt of pleasure. He flashes her a small grin, as if they’re sharing a private joke 

She opens her mouth, and it’s like he knows she’s going to protest again. Sighing, he grabs her arm and roughly turns her around, smacking her ass. 

“Fucking get down there,” he snarls. She starts and begins to move. But it’s not fast enough for him, she learns, as he pushes her down on the couch. It’s hard enough that she bounces, trying to right herself. The sight makes him smile. 

“Going to make me tie you up?” he says teasingly. He could. He could do anything right now, Rey thinks. “Nah. You want it too badly. You’ll take it willingly.” 

She’s sitting up on the couch now, completely naked. He’s standing in front of her, and as he undoes his belt, she tenses, waiting for him to unzip his pants. But instead, he grabs her hair, jamming her face against his clothed erection, moving her roughly around his crotch.

“You’d probably be good at this too. That’s an idea.” 

Rey groans against the denim. Then he’s gentle again, stroking her hair. “But that’s not what I want. Today, at least.” He chuckles. 

He steps back, bending to grab her underwear. He dangles the thong in front of her face when he returns, leaning to speak in her ear, nuzzling at her face. She recoils. 

“If you scream, these go in your mouth, okay?” 

She nods, jaw clenched, and he shoves them in his pocket. 

“I thought about fucking you from behind,” he says, dropping down to sit next to her on the couch. “You’re always on all fours when you’re working on the garden.” 

When she’d moved in, she’d been delighted when the landlord had shown her the communal planter box in a tucked-away corner of the complex, which she’s proceeded to fill with kale, spring onions and zucchini. Right now, her tomatoes are flourishing. 

“I always see you there. You're the only one who uses that thing.” He reaches out, tracing his finger down the shell of her ear. “No one else is ever around. I could pull down those fucking leggings and just push in while you were already on all fours. Would you yell? Or would you be all quiet and thank me after?” 

He shoves his pants and boxers briefs down just enough to pull out his cock, thick and red, a dot of precum shining at the tip. 

“But no. I want to see your face. This time, at least.” He grabs her hand and wraps it around himself, forcing her to pull at him for a few rough strokes while he groans loudly. 

Soon, he’s jerking his head at her for her to climb on top of him. “All right. What are you waiting for?”

She stands and straddles him, her sandals still on. She looks down, biting her lip at the size of him. “Go on,” he says, sounding generous as he settles back onto the cushion. “Take your time. I want you to enjoy it.” 

Shivering, she grabs him and slowly starts to sink down, letting out a small cry at the stretch, and she pauses.

“Shh shh shh,” he croons. “C’mon, Rey. I know you want this. I know it’s kind of big. Sorry. You just have to get used to it.” He gently tucks a loose strand of hair around her ear. “But you can’t stop. Keep going, okay?” 

Her mouth hangs open as she pants, and she sees him stare at it as he waits for her.

His patience doesn’t last long. Soon, his hands wrap around her waist, like he’s going to yank her down if she takes any longer. “Don’t be selfish, Rey,” he warns. “You were so wet a minute ago when I was playing with your cunt. I know you can take it.” 

She can. But wow, it’s a stretch, she thinks, sinking down a little more. The size of him, even from this easier angle—it’s like he’s taking over her body, possessing it completely. 

“Or are you just a tease?” He’s breathing faster now, but he can still smirk at her as he leans back, completely at ease as she struggles above him. He flicks one nipple. Then the other. “Aww, little slut can’t handle what you’re asking for when you wear a dress like that?” 

“I wasn’t asking for it—” she whines, shifting to take him deeper, the wetness from his rough treatment of her breasts sending tendrils of pleasure to her cunt, flooding her, making it easier.

“Yeah, you were,” he says, tone fond. “Admit it.” 

She shakes her head furiously, fully seated now. She shifts around restlessly on his lap, craving friction and movement, needing in a desperate way.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says. “You feel so good Rey.” He reaches up and squeezes her breast roughly, shoving up once in a way that makes her puff out a breath. 

He lets out a groan too, his eyes falling shut. Noticing his distraction, Rey moves to slide off him. But he immediately realizes what she’s attempting, and his eyes fly open. 

And before she can even fully lift herself, he’s grabbing her hips to change their positions, yanking her off him and shoving her body down next to him. He holds her in a painful grip, so she’s laying on her back on the couch, eyes wide as he climbs over her, cock in hand, eyes furious. 

He wastes no time, pushing in too quickly, and Rey’s whole body jolts with the force of it. She gasps, and his eyes meet hers for a quick assessing stare. At her moan, he starts pulling out and shoving back in, with short, punishing thrusts that would hurt if she wasn’t so embarrassingly turned on. He’s still fully dressed, and she hears the clang of his belt buckle hitting his zipper. 

“God damn it,” he hisses. She tries to push him off, but he holds her down. She feels the pattern of his couch cushion, wonders if it’ll imprint on her back. 

“No,” she pleads. “Stop.” But there’s no point now, is there? When he’s got her fully trapped and squirming under him, trying to take him deeper? He’s so broad and all-consuming above her, blocking out everything but him from her sight. There’s nowhere to go. All she can do is lie back and suck in trembling breaths as she takes it, staring dumbly up at him, her mouth open, breasts bouncing, as he insults her. 

“I forgot I was dealing with a fucking whore,” he hisses, face flushed, “Who walks around in tiny dresses and always has her ass in the air and pretends like she doesn’t need to be fucked all the goddamn time. I don’t need to be nice to you, do I? I can be as mean as I want and you’ll take it, because you love it, huh?” 

Every vicious word pushes her higher, forces her hips higher to meet his, filling her with cringy discomfort edged with dark pleasure. She can’t move. She has to do what he wants, overwhelmed by him physically and with the ricocheting feelings of fear and desire. She twists her body, struggling under his grip, away from him, against him, seeking—and then, finally, he deigns to reach down and rub her clit. Only once, and she cries out at the loss. 

“Fuck,” he rasps out as she lets out pathetic little gasps while he slams into her, deeper than before. “Keep whining. I like it.” She can smell him, the harsh edge of coffee on his breath and some aggressively manly deodorant, something that’s probably advertised with a mountain range or some bullshit, and it combines with the smell of her, her coconut lotion, her arousal. 

He slows down to a cruelly unsatisfying pace, rocking their bodies together in a parody of romantic lovemaking. “I like knowing you're so needy. It’s nice to know that I have a pretty place to put my cock anytime I want.”

“No no no,” she chants as she tries to shove up her hips for more. A firm hand on her hip holds her in place, reminding her who’s in charge. 

“If you do good, if you come for me, I’ll fuck you on the bed next time.” 

“No—next—time.” Her eyes fall shut, head tipping back. 

“Nope,” he says. When she doesn’t open her eyes, he says it again, firmer, yanking at her hair until she opens her eyes. He’s started pumping into her faster. “Look at me. I want you to look at me when you come.”

“I’m not going to,” she gasps, somehow managing to glare even as she wants to sigh and moan and ask for more. 

He doesn’t like that, and she nearly screams at the force of his next thrust. 

“Rey,” he says, in between thrusts, breathing hard. One side of his lip quivers like it might twitch. “Just admit how much you like this. I can feel how wet you are.” 

She gives up, letting out a whining, pathetic, “Please.”

“I’m close,” he says, panting. “And then you’ll be all done. You’ll be so full, and you’ll go home messy and dripping. Because that’s what you’re good at Rey. Just taking what I give you.”

“Oh.” Rey says, voice rising even higher, gasping. “Oh!” 

“I’m going to knock on your door whenever I want, and we’re going to do this. And you can’t say no.” 

She squeals as he starts pumping into her even faster, the movement loud. His hand moves to her clit and stays there, her orgasm another thing he’s going to take, whether she wants it or not. 

He leans even closer to her to her ear. “You dumb little slut,” he whispers affectionately, rubbing quick circles. “Thinking I wouldn’t want to do this again. You feel so good, I’m never letting you go.” 

At that, she comes with a rush, hips bouncing, legs jerking. She finally touches him, clawing at his shoulders for something to ground her, and as she cries out helplessly, she stares into his dark eyes, mean and filled with pleasure as he watches her come apart. He wraps his arms even more tightly around her, hands warm, his grip possessive as he drives into her, groaning raggedly against her hair when he comes.

For a moment, there’s just the sound of their breathing. 

He’s paused above her, sweating and panting. And then, in a movement she’d almost describe as chaste, he bends to kiss her neck. 

Rey’s eyes open at the feeling, surprised. “Was that okay?” he asks quietly, starting to lean backward, preparing to leave her body. 

“No,” she says, lazily demanding, circling his back with her arms, slinging her leg around his, coveting his warmth. He makes a surprised noise as she yanks him against her chest. “I mean. Yes. It was perfect. But hang out a sec?”

“Yeah? Um. Totally. Just let me—so you don’t—” He shifts, trying not to crush her. But it’s inevitable. He’s just so big, and the couch isn’t that wide. 

But Rey likes being gently crushed by his weight, as much as she likes the feeling of him remaining in her after sex. Their sweat drying, their breathing returning to normal. Riding it out together. She wiggles under him, enjoying where their skin presses together. She starts laughing, and, per usual, it bubbles out of her a little hysterically. He just continues to hold her, breathing steadily. 

He’d been so freaked out the first time she’d let out a deranged cackle after sex. She’d had to assure him that no, nothing was wrong. It just helped. It was a way to release all the excess feelings that bounced around her brain when they had the kind of sex they both liked. Now, he just holds her closer when she does it. Like he’s doing now. 

Eventually though, his sense of responsibility kicks in. She groans when he stands up and tugs her up after him. But that’s why she does this with him, she thinks as she trundles to the bathroom, mildly dazed. When she returns, he’s sitting on the couch, clothes neatly arranged, like nothing happened. 

There’s a glass of water on the table. He pushes it towards her. She smiles at him and gulps half, then bends to find her underwear.

“Oh. Here.” He reaches into his pocket and hands them to her.

She wrinkles her nose at their dampness. Maybe she’ll just go commando. It’s a short walk—

“How do you feel?” he asks, looking at her face briefly, then away. He always does that—politely trying to give her privacy while she dresses after sex, even if he’s seen every freckle on her body minutes before. But he also always makes eye contact when she’s talking—raised well, good manners—so when she responds, she sees his eyes shift around nervously. The internal struggle always makes her smile a little. 

“Um.” She takes a second. Historically, Rey’s first instinct when asked that question is to always loudly proclaim that she’s fine. Completely fine. No, she doesn’t need anything. And if she does need something, she can do it herself. But she’s learned that she does needs to take a second after this kind of sex. Especially after today’s round. She scans herself. She feels tired, her thoughts slower. Maybe a bit chilly. But overall, fine. She twists her lips, thinking about what she needs. 

“Do you want to shower?”

“No.” He does have luxurious, stupidly-expensive shampoo, but her hair looks good right now. She doesn’t want to risk it.

“Food?”

Hmm. She can always eat. But she has half a burrito at her place, and he’s so virtuously healthy that even though he’d probably make her whatever she requested, she doesn’t want to see the grimace he’d likely to try to hide as she detailed whatever trash food combination she really craved. “Nah.”

His eyes dart around, the beginnings of frantic, and she sees him eye his French press. He wants to do something for her. Maybe he needs to. And she doesn’t want coffee, but she thinks she’s figured out what to ask for. 

“Here, can I just—lounge on you for a second?” she asks, walking over to him, still naked. He nods, looking relieved. She drapes herself over his lap, a knee on either side of him. 

He skims his hands over her, rubbing her shoulders, his embrace loose. He always lets her control the intensity of their touch afterwards. Today she sags into him, hooking her chin over her shoulder, letting her body go limp. 

“Can you rub my back, please?”

His big hands rove over her, rubbing gently. She makes a small noise of contentment, face buried in the crook of his neck. Turning her head, she discreetly huffs in his scent. It’s a necessary part of her come-down routine, she’s decided. Her brain feels like a dopey golden retriever if she gets enough of the stuff. His hands keep stroking, making indecipherable patterns over her skin. The niceness of it makes her shiver, and she burrows deeper into his embrace.

“Are you cold?” His voice is low and rumbly. One of his hands leaves her back and starts casting around for something. She grabs it and pulls it back to her. 

“A little. But you’re sufficiently furnace-like.” 

He holds her tighter. She hears his exhale and she smiles against his skin, glad this is good for him, too. She purrs, squeezing him, rubbing his shoulder blades. 

One of his hands strokes her hair, gently combing out a snarl. “Do you need anything else?”

She’d felt embarrassed asking for this at first, but she’s relaxed enough with him now. And it’s easier when she can ask it into his back. “Can you, uh, compliment me?”

He responds immediately, which helps. “You were perfect. You’re beautiful and I appreciate how open and clear you are with what you want.”

Rey beams, feels herself swell, mentally almost back to normal after the ups and downs of what they’ve done. He keeps rubbing, the motion soothing. 

“And I’m the best at making grilled cheeses?”

“Huh?” He’s so serious, even a bit solemn. She feels a little bad about teasing him, but it’s so nice when he smiles. Even if she can’t see it. 

“Sorry. I was just kidding. My roommate and I—”

“Finn, right?”

“Yep, good memory. We had an, uh—intense debate this week about whether or not to use mayo for grilled cheese. I’m pro-mayo. Obviously.”

“Um.”

“But seriously, thank you. That was what I needed. Is there anything I can—”

“Nope. And that was all okay? Not too...anything?” He sounds anxious. 

“No! It was creepy and hot and perfect,” she says, moving her arms to squeeze him. He’s so wide. “I love your body. I love the things you say. I love the way you feel.”

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

They sit together quietly. She snuggles closer, and his grip remains solid. The touch and the gentle conversation recalibrate Rey, tilting her back to equilibrium. She feels full and whole and normal again. She could hop off and head home, and be completely fine. But she wants to keep talking to him, she finds. 

“I didn't realize you knew I gardened.” 

“I saw you once. I tried to say hi,” he says, a little fast. “But you had your headphones in.” 

“Ah, I see. Well. Let me know if you ever need any kale. I know you’re into that shit.” 

He laughs, hands now still on her back. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

That’s unexpected. If she wasn't half drunk off his scent, head lolling against his neck, she’d cock her head. They’ve reached the point where their conversation usually stops. Their post-sex interactions are typically limited to: generous aftercare, a polite thanks for the sex, that was hot. The occasional mention of the real world—a strained calf from a workout, that new movie, have you seen it?—flits in. Has been more and more recently, Rey realizes. But it’s dangerous territory, because there’s this thing that always happens—

“Uh—yep. I actually am making lemon bars.” 

“Nice. Any particular occasion?”

“Picnic in the park. Friend’s birthday potluck. I have a very limited set of things I can bake. But there’s still a fifty percent chance I’ll fuck them up somehow.” 

He laughs again. “Sounds fun,” he says, right as she asks, “What about you?”

She cringes. Dammit. It’s starting. It’s always good for a little while. But then, the farther away they get from the hazy, murmuring bubble of sex and aftercare, and they start interacting as two adults not currently fucking, something switches. For whatever reason, the ease that surrounds their interactions around sex disappears in a poof, and they both become incapable of normalcy.

The awkwardness is gruesome. She’d waved to him once, too big, after coming home drunk, and then proceeded to drop her keys, tote and headphones as he watched. One afternoon after sex, Rey had mentioned something about bike lanes, and he’d made some lofty, rambling point, convoluted to the point where she’d asked, her nose scrunched in horror: “Are you a Republican?” “No,” he’d yelled immediately, and then they’d both lapsed into silence. He turned her into an idiot: one time, he'd asked her what her favorite band was. Entranced by his intense gaze, she’d stammered out the first band she could think of, a band she hadn’t listened to since a weird phase in high school: “The Foo Fighters?”

She laughs breathlessly and then frowns, staring at the wall. “You go.” 

“I’m going hiking with my friend Hux—”

“Oh, you’ve mentioned him!” she yelps, remembering how’d nice it’d felt when he’d remembered Finn’s name. Then she winces. “Sorry, didn’t mean to talk over you—”

“—Then going to that brewery on Ninth with some people from my lab.”

“I’ve had some of their beers!” Why is she chirping? 

“Yeah, they’re really good at IPAs. Hux and I actually homebrew sometimes, and we recently made a clone of one of their beers. It was a Simcoe and Cascade double IPA. Definitely high gravity. I think it was about 10.5%? Super piney and dank, kind of resin-y…”

She thinks he’s talking about hops, but the words are so foreign he could truly be talking about anything right now. Resin-y? She wrinkles her nose. She’s smoked a decent amount of weed in her lifetime. Are there really people who want their beer to taste like resin?

He’s talking fast, now about lactose (in beer? Excuse me? she thinks) and then he abruptly stops, like he’s reining himself in. “Sorry. This is probably. Uh. Really fucking boring.”

“No!”

“What kind of beer do you like?”

“Um.” She likes things that taste good. Not things that taste like they’re punishing you. “I’m more of a cider person, I think?” Ugh, and why did she have to reference their age difference, the fact that she’s not allowed to legally find out what kind of beer she likes for another year? And furthermore, why does her voice keep trailing upwards? She is a strong woman. A strong woman with firm convictions and confident opinions about IPAs. 

“Did you see the laundromat has another broken machine?” he blurts suddenly. “It’s so—”

“Yeah! There are no more high energy machines left!” she says quickly, eager for the topic change. She’s unlocked herself from his body, sitting back on his lap. They’re looking at each other now, which is nice. But she’s talking over him again, and that’s rude, dammit. You know how to have a conversation, she scolds herself. 

“Yeah, it’s just the shitty ones left—”

“They’re soooo old. They’re from, like, 1991—”

He blinks. “That’s not that old.” Does he sound defensive?

Rey does some quick math, and blushes. “No! I didn’t mean—but like. For a washing machine?”

“They also raised the price of soap, I saw.”

“Yeah, and it always leaves a gross residue—”

“You actually use that stuff?”

Now she’s defensive. “Only when I run out of my usual soap—”

“I didn’t mean to—I have those pods, if you ever want to borrow—” He seems to realize he sounds weirdly eager to share his Tide Pods with her, and trails off. 

“Thanks,” she says, nodding seriously. 

They both pause, and look away. He clears his throat, and then makes a pained noise.

“Are you—?”

“It’s just—”

She looks down, and since she’s scooted back to talk at him, she’s almost balanced on his knees. And that’s probably not that comfortable—and oh no, he’d mentioned once that he has knee issues from running marathons while getting his PhD (a fact that had made her alternately horrified and horny.) 

“Did I hurt you?” she squawks, trying to adjust. She moves too far, starts to fall off of him. He grabs her and hauls her up, eyes wide.

He chuckles, but it doesn’t sound relaxed, like it did earlier. It’s probably time, Rey thinks. They’re in the real world again. And she does have stuff to do. Butter to somehow integrate into flour without a mixer. Teaspoons and tablespoons not to confuse. 

“Well, I should probably take off,” she says, clambering off him. She pulls her dress back on. 

He clears his throat. “Good luck with your lemon bars.” 

“Thanks. Have a fun hike.”

She picks up her underwear, grimacing, wishing she had brought a purse. “And this was really good. Like, exactly what I wanted. Thanks, Ben.”

“You, too,” he says. “This was—great.”

She bends to grab the bag of flour from the table.

“Wait, you're actually taking that?” He sounds surprised. 

“Yeah. I’m short, like I said,” she says, looking at him anxiously. “Is that okay?” 

He nods, his eyes looking a little lighter. “Of course. Have a good day, Rey.”

She smiles at him, relieved, and leaves quickly, before things can get awkward again, shutting the door firmly behind her. 

* * *

The next morning, Rey doesn’t get out of bed immediately. She exults in not being hungover from Rose’s birthday, her genius decision to finish her problem set on Friday and the rare occurrence of having the apartment to herself for a few hours. (Finn, yesterday, so earnest: “I just want to make sure Rose has help carrying all the leftover food home from the party.”) She flops out her limbs, enjoying the feeling of being smothered in sheets. She rubs a hand idly over her cunt, thoughts drifting to Ben’s couch. 

She contemplates touching herself, but feels so magnificently lazy that she abandons it after a few halfhearted strokes. She rolls to her side, grabbing her phone. But before she does anything, she has a final flash to yesterday: Ben’s lips on her neck after they’d both come, his whispered, hesitant question. 

Leaving her depressingly tiny hometown to attend a huge public university in a large city had improved Rey’s life in a myriad of ways. Like, for example: she was suddenly faced with a much wider variety of men available at her personal sex buffet. And a bigger pool of guys meant she could finally answer a question she’d been wondering about. The stuff that she watched porn of. With the power dynamics, the name calling, the roughness. Did she like that as mere masturbatory fodder, the good shit that got her off efficiently in the half hour between classes? Or did she want that in her own sex life? 

She’d been too nervous her first year. School was exhausting, guys on dating apps were creepy, especially the kinky ones. (Just because she liked being called a dirty slut didn’t mean she wanted it in the opening text. Jesus. Also: so many fedoras.) So she had pleasant-enough vanilla sex, but had summoned up her courage to redownload the apps before her second year began. And Ben had popped up the first night, after an hour of weeding out the weirdos, and despite a rocky introduction (“dude are your shoulders really that big or is this one of those dating app optical illusions aka LIES,” she’d wrote, deep into the three margaritas needed to brave the wilds of online dating) they’d ended up texting long enough for Rey to find out some wonderful things: he wasn’t a creep, he had interesting things to say and they had the same preferences. Plus, he was local. She’d found out just how local when she’d walked into the coffee shop and found out that Feeld Ben—polite, 29, a postdoc in...something biology related?— was Hot Quiet Neighbor at the apartment complex she and Finn had moved into the prior month. 

That coffee date had revealed some more things. Even if their conversation was somewhat stilted, surely that would pass. More importantly, they had sexual chemistry in person (it had been one p.m. and Rey had clawed her nails into her palms to resist the urge to climb into his lap and nuzzle at him, whining until he told her she was good, not caring about of her other coffee shop patrons; he’d stared at her mouth and shifted in his seat) and they were both looking for the same thing: depraved, no-strings sex with a friendly enough non-murderer, whenever their respective schedules allowed.

A week later, when they’d met up for the first time, for some training wheels spanking that seemed so innocent now—she’d wailed and dripped over his thighs, he’d only let her suck his dick even after she’d begged so nicely for him to fuck her—she’d discovered her answer: yes. This is what she was into. She wasn’t just interested in the fantasy, existing only on a PornHub incognito tab. She wanted this, and she wanted it with Ben. 

She’d been worried it would be weird, as she walked the short distance back to her apartment with a reddened ass and tangled hair. Doing this with a neighbor that she shared a dumpster with, someone who saw her in her hideous laundry day ensembles. But it had been great. Most of the time, they were casual acquaintances, neighbors who nodded to each other. Except for the texts, an obscene, rolling catalogue of boundaries, test results, safe words and logistics (sir or daddy? Can I leave a mark? Where? Do you want me to call you bad or good? Harder than last time or less? By any chance, do you happen to own a plaid skirt?), texts that made her flush and hide her phone from Finn. 

They’d done a lot in the few months they’d been doing this. But they had never really kissed. She’s never even felt his mouth higher than her neck. Except for yesterday. And she realizes suddenly, sitting up in her bed, that she doesn’t want no-strings with Ben any more. She wants to kiss him more, or maybe ask for a tentative date, to see they if they like each in a non-sex context. Yeah, whenever they try to talk, their words collide and repel instead of weaving together nicely, in the rat-a-tat banter of the romantic comedies she loves. But, she thinks, they’d both attempted conversation yesterday. They’d both wanted to prolong their interaction, had both been willing to risk the conversational quagmire to make an earnest effort toward further connection. She trusts him, and she likes the puzzle pieces of himself he’d revealed. Now she wants to study the full landscape. 

Maybe he still wants casual. And maybe he doesn’t want to date someone who’s 19 (almost 20, she sulks in her head). And maybe their awkwardness means that they’re only suited for sex, that they’re too—something—to work as anything more. 

But maybe, when he’d asked if it was okay, he meant the kiss, not what had come before, because he wanted more, too. And it’s that thought, with all its thrilling, nerve wracking potential, that has her throwing off her covers and pulling on clothes. 

* * *

For the second day in a row, Rey knocks on Ben’s door. There’s silence, then a rustling noise. 

“Ben?” she calls out. Maybe he didn’t hear her knock. 

“Hold on,” he yells. 

Something crashes. Rey frowns at the door. 

“Oh, hey Rey,” Ben says, raising his eyebrows when he opens the door. But not like he’s disappointed to see her, she thinks. (Hopes.) He’s wearing gray joggers—her eyes widen as her gaze travels down the length of them. She politely refrains from licking her lips at the sight of his dick, just visible enough to be distracting.

“What’s up?” He’s panting a little.

“You okay? I heard some chaotic noises?”

“I was doing a yoga video,” he says in a tone of great dignity. 

Rey zones out for a second to the image of that big body arranged into dancer’s pose. He does have impressive core strength. She blinks, scrambling for something to say. “Nice shirt.”

He looks down at the faded WNYC shirt. It looks soft. Rey wonders if he’d let her wear it. If it would cover her cunt if she did. “Um. Thanks. Gotta represent the hometown.” 

“Oh, you’re from New York?” There’s so much she doesn’t know about him.

“Yeah. My mom gives me some New York-related piece of clothing whenever I’ve moved for school. I have this, a sweatshirt from my favorite dumpling place from when I moved for grad school…”

“That’s sweet.” 

He sighs. “It is. It’s also part of a subtle, years-long campaign to get me back to New York. I think she’d settle for anywhere on Eastern seaboard, though.”

“Ah.” Rey can relate to zero things about that sentence. But there haven’t been any embarrassing conversational flare-ups yet, so the morning is really an unbridled success. “I’ve never been to New York.” 

“You should. It's a good place to visit, but hard to live.” He makes a face. “That’s such a stupid cliche. But it’s true. For me, at least.” He leans against the doorframe, arms folded. His muscles look huge this way. She wonders if he realizes. “What about you? Where are you from?”

“Um…” Rey tries to resist the urge to shift. There’s not really a good way to mention being abandoned by your English parents at an Imperial County church while they were road-tripping, en route to Mexico. It tends, she’s noticed, to bring the vibe down. She doesn’t want them ruining her nice conversation with Ben. 

He notices her hesitation. “I mean, you don’t have—” he says, rushed.

“No, it’s just, ah—” Why are they like this with each other? But she’s determined to keep going, to hack through the jungle of their awkwardness. 

“Sorry. I swear I’m not one of those guys who asks everyone with an accent where they’re from.” He rubs the back of his head. “Shit. I’m being weird. I just haven't had coffee yet. Sorry, Rey.” 

That warms Rey, but she’s nervous too. She needs to get this out quickly before their conversations devolves further into the sinkhole of stammers and grimaces. 

“That’s actually—I was going to get coffee at Red Bay,” she says, pointing her arm for some reason, like he needs a navigational aid to the coffee shop two blocks away. “Do you maybe want to join?” 

She tries to give a medium strength smile that indicates, I Am Completely Fine If You Say No. Has she overstepped? She doesn’t want to be weird about their relationship, whatever it is, too eager to make it something it’s not. She’s completely fine to just continue having their deviant sex on a regular basis, if that’s all he wants.

But then he smiles. Not the tight, meanly-satisfied, closed mouth smile he has when shoving her against the wall and calling her a whore, choking her with one hand while fingering her with the other. And not his let’s-test-how-many-times-you-can-come smirk. Just a big, unselfconscious, pleasantly-surprised grin, one that makes his eyes crinkle and shows off his crooked teeth. 

“Yeah,” he says immediately, a little louder than before. He clears his throat. “Do you want to wait inside while I change pants?” he says in his normal tone, stepping backward, and opening his door wider. “You can tell me how the lemon bars went. “

“Sure,” Rey says, as she steps inside his apartment once again, giving a too-big smile to match his. “Sounds great.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a departure for me so I'd love to know what you think (if ya feel like it!) [ Occasional tweets here](https://twitter.com/kalx58)
> 
> ETA: I've written [another consensual noncon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059930/chapters/68743914) fic if you want more!


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